


not someone like me

by scribblingnellie



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Molly and Sherlock may be a little bit drunk, Molly/Greg texting, POV Molly Hooper, Sherlock's match making, Sherlock's trying to be nice, pints after work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2260284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblingnellie/pseuds/scribblingnellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over a drink, or three, Sherlock Holmes tells Molly Hooper something she never realised. Or maybe she had? Drunk Sherlock is matchmaking for his friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not someone like me

  
'My round... or is it yours?'

Sherlock stopped, his coat swinging around him as he turned back to her. Molly loved how it did that, making him look rather cool.

'Um...' Whose round was it? She focused on his face as it peered down at her. Must have been his. He'd bought the first, she'd bought the ones they'd just drank, so, yes, his. 'Yours. Definitely.'

'Great! ...ok, so, where's the bar. Oh, yes, over there.'

Swaying a little, and trying not to, the consulting detective headed back over to the bar of the pub, leaving Molly to her texting.

_In the Crown and Feather with Sherlock. Needed a couple of drinks after today. Don't worry, I'm ok now. M_

She hit send. It was just like Greg to worry. He was lovely like that. Whenever she had autopsies that upset her, he'd check in on her.

Like last week, after the Whitehall body, when he'd suggested they come here for a drink. She remembered sitting in a booth up the back, the dark panelling making it feel cosy, with Greg smiling at her across the table, his hands playing with the cardboard coaster. His company, and the pint of bitter, had been just the thing she needed after a last minute autopsy under the imperious stare of Mycroft Holmes behind glass. Molly smiled, recalling his face when she informed him if wanted to join her in the morgue while she conducted it, he'd have to put the suit and mask and boots on. He'd politely withdrawn to the viewing area after that.

Two full pint glasses appeared in front of her with a loud thump. And a slosh.

'Oops!' Molly whipped her mobile away as droplets of beer plopped onto the screen.

'Two beers. Had a strange name, can't remember it now.' Shaking his head, Sherlock raised one of the glasses. 'Cheers, Molly.'

'Cheers, Sherlock.' Clinking glasses, she laughed as more beer sloshed out. 'Oh dear. Think we better make this our last. Got to get up for work tomorrow. And you've definitely had enough.'

'You know, that's what I like about you, Molly.'

'What's that?'

'You're so... obvious..'

'Ok..'

'No. no, I don't mean that.. I mean you're.. to the point, say what you think..' His face contorted as his brain searched for the right word. 'Ah! Straightforward.'

Molly knew from Sherlock that was a compliment. 'Thank you, I think. Oh!...'

The loud beeps made her jump. What? Oh, of course, her mobile.

'Who's that?' Sherlock picked up her phone before she had a chance, moving it closer to his face. 'Who's Greg?'

'Greg's Greg.' Did that make sense? It did in her head.

' _I always worry about you_...'

'Hey!' Snatching her phone away from Sherlock as he began to read the new text. 'Rude to read other's people's messages.'

'Ah, but you're not other people, you're Molly.' Sherlock took another sip of his pint, screwing up his nose as he did.

'I know I'm Molly. And that means you definitely shouldn't be reading my text messages.'

'Oh. Sorry. No, I shouldn't should I? Sorry.' He smiled, contrition obvious on his face. Then his eyes suddenly lit up. 'Greg! You mean Lestrade.'

Molly shook her head. Duh. Slow on the uptake sometimes was Sherlock. 'Of course it's Lestrade.'

'Yes, of course, because that's what I was going to tell you.' And then he paused, taking another sip.

'Tell me what?'

'Hmm?'

He looked over the pint glass at her. A half empty pint glass. How had he managed that so quickly? No wonder he was drunk.

'What were you going to tell me about Greg?'

'That he likes you.'

'Well, I like him. That's not news.'

Her and Greg were good friends, everyone knew that. After Sherlock's jump, they'd found themselves sharing coffee and a shoulder to cry on and it had become a regular habit - one turning to the other whenever they needed a pint, a chat or a bit of cheering up.

'No, no, not that. Really likes you. He wants to ask you out to dinner. He almost did the other day.. when was that? You know, when we were looking at that body, the one with the blue splotches..'

'Oh yes, the one from the warehouse. Should have the results back on...'

Molly stopped. Her brain put on the brakes and made her close her mouth, replaying what Sherlock had just told her. Greg wanted to ask her out? He wanted to have dinner with her? Seriously?

'I mean, it's always been rather obvious to me anyway that he likes you, the look he always..'

Tuning out his rambling, and the music and chatter and clinking glasses, Molly pulled back the memory of that day. Late afternoon. A brief text from Sherlock to say he was on his way to see the body. The handsome silver haired policeman walking into her morgue, proffering two cups of hot, strong coffee. John and Sherlock walking out, quickly looking back over their shoulders at the two of them.

And then Greg smiling at her, wanting to say something. She'd rolled the body back into the storage cabinet and Greg had stood the other side. He started, stopped, looked away. Then he ran a hand over his head, offered her a wry smile and a 'Thanks, Molly' before turning and leaving. He'd looked so awkward, shy almost. Oh.

Remembering the phone in her hand, she looked back down at his text.

_I always worry about you, Molly. Do you need a lift home? Finally leaving the office now. G_

'Molly! Molly!'

There was an irritating tugging on her sleeve. 'Sherlock, stop it. You're drunk.' She started tapping out a reply.

'Possibly. Though I don't get drunk.'

'Yes you do.' Molly smiled and hit the send button.

_A lift would be lovely. If it's no trouble. M_

'Yes I do. So, what does Greg want?'

Pocketing her phone, she stood up and linked her arm through his. 'None of your business, Sherlock Holmes. Now, you need to find yourself a cab and I need some fresh air. Come on.'

Pulling him along, ignoring his protests, Molly manoeuvred their way through the crowded pub to the door. As they stepped outside, she felt the cold night air rush up to meet her. Breathing it in, shaking her head against the fug of the alcohol.

'Right, a cab.' Turning his body left and right, Sherlock threw his arm into the air to hail the approaching black cab, pulling Molly sideways. 'Cab to Baker Street, Dr Hooper.'

Untangling their arms, she opened the door, pushing him in. 'Go home and sleep it off, Mr Holmes.'

As he tumbled onto the seat, he grabbed her hand, bringing their faces close together.

'Tell him yes, Molly. When Greg gets here, say yes.'

'Sherlock, it's too cold to...'

But he held her hand tighter, letting his forehead rest against hers. 'Please, Molly. Say yes. You deserve a man like Greg. A good man. Someone not like me.'

Her heart jumped. He could still have that effect on her. Those eyes, that voice. She'd been in love with him once. Once. But not now.

Gently she kissed his forehead. 'You're drunk.'

'I am. Ignore me.' He let go of her hand, settling his head against the back of the seat. 'Baker Street, please.'

'Night, Sherlock.' Molly closed the door, waving as the cab pulled back into the traffic.

Watching it disappear from view, she smiled. He might be rude, obnoxious, ridiculous but Sherlock was very dear to her. She'd already forgiven him; he'd tried hard all day to be nice, to make up for the fact that he'd taken two rather than one kidney from the cold storage yesterday. Angry as he sometimes made her, she couldn't stay mad at him.

Hearing her phone, she reached inside her coat pocket, stomping her feet on the ground to bring back some feeling.

_For you Molly, no trouble at all. Be there in 10 minutes. G_

If Sherlock thought Greg was a good man, that he liked her, then how could she ignore that?

_Thank you. I'll make us coffee, if you've got time. M_

_Definitely. G_  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the first creative prompt for September - fluid - I began writing a quick story of Molly and Sherlock having a drink, or three, together and getting a little drunk. Though in the writing it turned itself into something more. I guess I can't resist the pull of a certain DI! Many thanks for reading.


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